“Wow, who cursed me in Klingon, can’t be that nerdy kid next door who bragged to me about his working phaser last year.“ *side-eye* OR "“You’re a street artist who uses magic in their art and I see your work everyday on my commute.” Leverage plz?
(The latter! Sort of.)
Most people stare because it’s beautiful. Kids especially, Parker sees the kids whenever she passes him, running through whatever landscape he’s drawn in chalk today, coming out smelling like wildflowers or stale recycled air or ocean salt. Some people stare because they’re trying to figure out what makes it work, trying to catch him in a lie or a technological trick, like he’s the Las Vegas kind of magician.
Parker stares because it’s such a joyful, flamboyant waste of magic.
She uses little bits of it to make herself hard to notice, the thief tricks that Archie taught her, but she’s never met anyone who used magic like him, to draw with chalk on the sidewalk and make a place Parker wants to step into. He’s not afraid someone’s going to think it’s magic.
He knows she’s watching.
“Want me to take you somewhere?” he asks her when she stops by at a quiet time. “Anywhere you want to go.”
Parker doesn’t say anything, but he squints at her and then he draws the top of a skyscraper, looking down over a city, and for a second before she leaves she can almost feel the wind ruffle her hair.